


Promotion Material

by sugartrash



Series: Break Sugar's Block [7]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mild Blood, Needles, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugartrash/pseuds/sugartrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis (<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2142537/?ref_=ttfc_fc_cl_t19">*</a>) finds himself unexpectedly under investigation before his promotion to a new level of responsibility in Mr. Fisk's organization.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Free fall. The die was cast. All Francis could do was wait. Shame, having something to hide, would be worse for him than the truth. He'd learned that from watching great men fall from great heights, tripped up by something so small as the need to have Nanny paddle their ass once a week. The world and its judgements could fuck itself as far as Francis was concerned. His body count spoke louder than any hobby, habit, or foible. At least he didn't smoke.</p>
</blockquote><i>Passing mentions of corruption (someone being framed for child abuse), drowning (holding someone under water)--not salient to the plot but I'll put that in here in case either is a problem for people even in that form.</i><p>Prompts covered were: hand jobs, situational engineering (conscious or unconscious setup to manufacture sexual situations), medical scenarios. This kind of got away from me and turned into an actual thing. Unrelated to the previous bit with Wesley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promotion Material

"What is this?" Even as he was asking the question, Francis got out of the way. After a quick glance both ways down the hall, Wesley stepped in. Francis hardly recognized him in street clothes--he hadn't known Wesley even owned a pair of jeans or leather jacket, much less work boots and a ball cap. Surreal.

"An inspection." Wesley carried straight on into the kitchen where he dropped his duffel bag on the small table by the window. With his presence the apartment seemed smaller and shabbier than ever. Francis preferred to think of it as compact and efficient.

"Inspection? What the hell is this, the Army?" Francis locked the door, shot the deadbolt, slid the chain home. When he caught up, Wesley was snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves. Black. Of course.

"Hardly. Our employer has standards." Wesley gave him an arch look. "Unless you'd like to decline your upcoming promotion. If so, I'll be able to keep this brief."

Francis glanced down at the open bag. A gun, silencer already in place, lay on top of the other gear. No question who it was for, no question that Wesley would use it. He couldn't even take it personally. Something was wrong with him that it felt like a compliment and reassurance at once.

"I'd never disrespect him that way. Or you." Francis clasped his hands behind his back and stood at ease. Force of habit. Years in the real Army. Where they sure as hell didn't have Mr. Fisk's standards. "How can I be of service?"

"Strip. Clothes on the counter. Go shower." Wesley took one of the chairs from the table and set it in the middle of the kitchen. "Then have a seat. I'll be with you when I'm done."

"Yes, sir."

Francis began by pulling his T-shirt off over his head. He folded it in three quick motions and set it by the bread box. His shoes--even in the house, he kept a pair on, just in case--went by the fridge, toes tucked under the cupboards. He emptied his pockets: folding utility knife, wallet, phone, keys. Slacks folded, tucked under the T-shirt. Neck sheath and blade arranged alongside the rest of his belongings on the stove top, along with his watch. Socks and briefs on top of the T-shirt.

While Francis stripped, Wesley searched the kitchen. UV light, bug sweeper, hand search under drawers and on top of the cupboards. Coffee tin full of change combed through, freezer reshuffled. His efficiency was admirable, even arousing. He worked as though Francis weren't there at all, as though they'd never spoken.

Francis cranked the shower up as hot as the old building's heater system would allow. The pipes rattled and, distantly, a neighbour banged back in protest. Who the hell showers at two in the morning? Francis started with shampoo, washing until his hair squeaked, then moved on to the Snap.

All his life there had been a container of that cleanser by the sink, the end to every work day for the men in the family. It was still Francis' habit for more than his hands, The only thing that made him feel clean some nights was the scrape of pumice cutting through his sins and down to a new level of unsullied skin. When he towelled off, there were red streaks on the towel, healing cuts opened up to bleed clean all over again. Francis patted them dry until they began to clot, then folded the towel before putting it in the laundry basket.

Wesley was in the bedroom but Francis had his orders. He went to the chair waiting in the kitchen and sat. The vinyl seat was cold on his bare ass, the metal scrollwork back felt too flimsy to lean on even if he had been inclined to do anything other than sit up straight, hands on his thighs, waiting. Having his personal belongings overturned should have been distressing, he'd tossed enough places to know people didn't take it well, but he felt composed. Like jumping out of a plane: once he was in free fall it was incredibly peaceful. _Alea iacta est_. There was nothing to do but wait for fate to play out.

"I had no idea you preferred ladies of a larger size, or that you were cohabiting." Wesley appeared in the hall outside the kitchen with a green sequinned dress in his hands. It would have fit him well enough--or Francis.

"I don't prefer ladies at all." Francis was fond of that dress. "It's mine."

"Interesting." Wesley held it up, looking it over, then turned back to Francis. "I can never tell with women's sizes. You dress like this regularly, then?" There was no judgement there, merely curiosity. Gathering information.

"Occasionally. It's a hobby. My VA therapist suggested I take up something other than going to the shooting range or climbing gym or anything associated with the service--select a childhood interest, I believe she said." Francis shrugged one shoulder. "So I did. It distracts."

"Expensive?" Wesley quirked an eyebrow.

"I sew."

"Resourceful." Wesley sounded almost impressed. "And you can walk in those shoes?"

"I can dance in them."

"Nice." With that, Wesley disappeared from sight again.

Free fall. The die was cast. All Francis could do was wait. Shame, having something to hide, would be worse for him than the truth. He'd learned that from watching great men fall from great heights, tripped up by something so small as the need to have Nanny paddle their ass once a week. The world and its judgements could fuck itself as far as Francis was concerned. His body count spoke louder than any hobby, habit, or foible. At least he didn't smoke.

"Bedroom." Wesley returned, stripping off the gloves with a snap. "Sit on the bed, face the dresser."

Francis' thighs and back ached from sitting so long in the chill of the room but he got up without complaint to do as he was told. In the bedroom, he faced himself in the mirror from the shoulders up. A small camera eyed him from the dresser but he ignored it in favour of looking himself in the eye. Not dead yet.

Wesley put the bag on the bed behind him and brought out a medical kit from under the gun. Fresh gloves, vials, needles, swabs.

"Stand up." Wesley waited for him to obey, then picked up the camera. He filmed Francis from head to toe, capturing every inch of skin. Arms raised, arms down. Turn slowly. Face me. Face front. Sit down. Wesley put the camera back on the dresser.

"Now for the inside." Wesley pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

Francis extended his arm for the blood test without being asked. Wesley was efficient, as always. The needle slid in easily, Francis' blood spilled out into one vial after another until Wesley was satisfied. At this point, Wesley knew more about him, possessed more of him, than anyone else in the world.

"Press." Wesley put a folded square of gauze on the puncture and held it until Francis put a finger on it. "Hold that." He tipped the vials back and forth slowly to mix the anticoagulant and other chemicals into the blood. The lids on the vials indicated they were mostly for standard blood panels and one for banking.

When Wesley had the vials tucked away in a cooler pouch, he tore off a piece of medical tape to keep the gauze in place on Francis' arm. It was a strangely formal thing, keeping that tiny wound covered, when Francis had survived knives and bullets and worse.

"Open." Wesley popped the lid off of a swab and Francis opened his mouth obediently. It was distinctly sexual, Wesley's hand on his jaw to tip Francis' head just so, the swab sliding along the inside of his cheek to rob him of a tiny bit of his flesh. When he was done, Wesley closed Francis' mouth gently, slid his gloved thumb over Francis' lips like an apology, then capped the swab.

"Two more to go." Wesley offered Francis an orange-capped container. "I hope you're not shy."

"I have nothing to hide." Francis looked Wesley in the eyes as he took the container. "This is not a business for shy men. Besides, you've seen me take a piss before."

"Lead the way." Wesley gestured for him to go ahead, toward the bathroom.

"Does it bother you?" Francis cracked the seal on the container, then set the lid aside carefully. "Doing this?"

"Not on principle." Wesley stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of him, eyes on Francis' face. "Some people have tidier lives than others. Sorting through week-old pizza boxes and piles of putrid, unwashed athletic gear is a job I look forward to relegating to you."

"I can't wait." Francis filled the container, then capped it before finishing up and washing his hands. He offered the container back to Wesley. "Don't say I never get you anything."

"And it's so personal, too. I'm touched."

Joking...hell, talking at all. That was a good sign. Like a parachute opening. Now was the time anxiety crept in, a prickle in the palms, a chill in the gut. Falling never killed anyone--just the landing.

"Last one," Wesley said, once they were back in the bedroom. He slipped off his jacket, tossed it on the bed with the ball cap on top of it. "You'd think people would like this one more but most of them are precious about it. Face the camera. Don't sit down."

Francis waited, hands behind his back, feet shoulder width apart. Initiation ceremonies were different everywhere you went. Some took minutes, others hours, and some took years. His thoughts flickered through the portfolio of his work for Fisk as it was written on his body: the stars and divots of bullet wounds, the arc of a knife wound along his ribs, a ragged knot on his shin where the bone had come through his flesh, the faint furrows on his arms from where he'd been clawed by a woman he held under the icy waters of an antique tub. Her hair had spread out like seaweed and his blood had tangled with it. He didn't remember her face or her name, just that she'd told him what he needed to know in the end.

"Ready?" Wesley set something on the dresser. A sample jar, a condom, a plastic clip. He put one gloved hand at the small of Francis' back. "How long this takes is really up to you."

Insurance. There was no other reason for that collection. Properly preserved, it could be held for years. The testing done by police labs was a blunt instrument. Francis had been party to that particular strategy before. His semen might turn up anywhere, even the clothing of a traumatized child. Some men laid down with dogs. Francis was sleeping with wolves.

"I'll try not to keep you waiting." Francis watched Wesley in the mirror. The man was almost impassive, his focus still on Francis' face, even this close. Francis turned his head enough to look him in the eyes. "Unless you'd like to help."

"It seems a collegial thing to do," Wesley said evenly. His gloved hand was warm on Francis' rising erection, his breath curled against Francis' mouth. "Especially if it'll make this go faster for you."

"With you?" Francis couldn't help his smile. There was nothing fumbling or uncertain about Wesley's touch, the firm stroke of his thumb and the delicate caress of his fingers. "Faster than I'd like."

"Eyes front," Wesley said sternly but, before Francis looked away, he saw the flicker of Wesley's tongue against his lower lip.

"Yes, sir." Francis caught his breath as Wesley circled the head of his cock with a finger that got slicker with every pass.

Francis knew better than to try to draw it out, this was still part of his inspection. He let his head fall back and succumbed to the pleasure of Wesley's skilful touch. Wesley's hand at the small of his back kept him steady when he swayed, shivering with need. His skin was electric with desire, he was aware of the shifting air currents in the room, Wesley's shallow breaths washing over his shoulder and up his neck, the warmth of Wesley's body so close to his and still so far.

It took more discipline than Francis expected not to turn and find Wesley's mouth with his, not to kiss the sweetness of his breath out of him until his knees gave way and they both went down on the bed together. He wanted nothing more than to strip Wesley's jeans open and suck him to hardness, then ride him until Wesley came in spite of himself. The fantasy had him dripping until Wesley's hand on him was slick with it and his balls tightened with his rising orgasm.

"Wait." Wesley's voice shook almost imperceptibly under a flat facade. Francis froze, unwilling to provoke him. Not now. Not yet. A moment later, Wesley rolled the waiting condom onto his cock, then stroked him again. "Continue."

Francis shifted and knew as he did how blatant his body was about what he was missing, the roll of his hips and arch of his back were nothing short of an offering. Wesley slowed his touches, leaving Francis to do the work of fucking the tunnel of his hand against the friction of condom against glove. He was willing himself to come, the words slipping out on his moans--fuck, come, please, just come--when he heard Wesley's breath catch.

Orgasm nearly took Francis out at the knees but that would have put his cock out of reach of Wesley's blessed hand, that perfect, tender grip bringing him off. Francis spilled into the condom and it got slicker and better inside with every spurt of come. He finally forced himself to stop, to stand there shivering and breathless, as his orgasm subsided. With foreplay like tonight, there was nothing second-rate about a hand job.

Wesley stripped the condom from him, carefully, wringing a moan from him. Francis opened his eyes to see Wesley clip it shut before tucking it away in the sample jar. Wesley's focus was on the task at hand but, in the mirror, Francis couldn't miss the flush on his cheeks or the glossy red of his bitten lips.

"I think we're done here." Wesley was doing an excellent job of pretending he wasn't affected, just not good enough for someone as familiar with him as Francis. "Go clean up."

Francis did as he was told, washing the last of his come off in the sink. For a moment, he considered pulling on the bathrobe but decided against it. He had nothing to hide and he was warm all over.

"Are we finished, then, sir?" Francis stopped in the bedroom doorway. Wesley was just zipping up the duffel bag. No sign of the gun. Francis resisted the urge to look him over for signs of arousal. He knew enough already, anything more would be pushing it.

"That'll be all, Francis." Wesley shouldered the bag again. "I'll be going now." Francis led the way to the door where he ran through the locking-up steps in reverse to let Wesley out.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

"Not tonight." Wesley stepped out into the hall, then pivoted to face Francis across the boundary of the threshold. "Some other time perhaps, though."

"Maybe in a less formal setting." Francis set his hands on either side of the door frame, leaning in just enough to touch that invisible line without crossing it. "Outside of work."

"I'd like that." Wesley nodded slightly. The tension in his body spoke of yearning. "Perhaps I could take you out. Celebrate your promotion."

"So I pass inspection?" Francis was still breathing but it was nice to have added confirmation.

"You're a credit to the organization and to our employer, Francis." Wesley pulled the ball cap on, then slid his hands into his pockets. Francis didn't mean to look but his eyes followed the motion to down below Wesley's belt buckle and found the unmistakeable swell of arousal there. "I've made my recommendation. Our employer will contact you with the decision."

"Yes, sir." Francis knew when he was dismissed. He closed the door between them, locked it again, double-checked the locks. He'd finished dressing in the kitchen, reassembling himself in the reverse order of the way he'd taken himself apart for Wesley, and was considering a late night snack when his phone chirped.

Their employer. Apparently, the man never slept.

_Congratulations, Francis. Wesley informs me that you're ready for your new role in our endeavours and I concur. The car will be there at 09:00 tomorrow with your assignments._

_Thank you, sir. I'll be ready._ Francis tapped 'send' at the same time as there was a knock on the door. A glance told him it was Wesley--maybe he'd forgotten something. The same ritual of chains and locks, then turn the knob.

"Did you--" Forget something. Need anything. Want to come in. Francis never got to finish. Wesley grabbed him by the front of the shirt, kissing him hard even as he pushed his way into the apartment.

When Wesley kicked the door closed behind him, Francis shoved him up against it with both hands on his chest. Wesley let go of Francis' shirt in favour of sliding his fingers through Francis' wet hair as they kissed. Francis undid Wesley's belt, then his button and fly.

"Francis, please."

Two words and Francis was on his knees. The shake in Wesley's voice, the wet heat of his cock against Francis' fingertips, the raw need underwriting the fact that he was here at all, all of it took Francis down like a wrecking ball. His coordination went to pieces and Wesley had to finish freeing his cock from his briefs so that Francis could get it in his mouth.

Wesley tasted of pre-come and sweat, smelled of sex and desperation underscored with whatever expensive soap he'd used before coming over. God, he was big, too. Perfect. Francis took him in as deep as he could, then pulled back but it was only to tongue-bathe the full length of his shaft and his balls. That got Wesley gasping so Francis took them in his mouth, one at a time, then together, mouthing and sucking until Wesley's thighs shook and Francis' chin was wet with saliva.

Wesley slid down, back to the door, to kiss Francis again. He struggled out of his jacket, then pulled his glasses off and dropped them on the floor. Careless. There was none of his usual composure left, his kisses were hot and messy. He got a hand in Francis' hair and held him still that way while he tongue-fucked Francis' mouth.

"Come inside me," Francis managed to mumble between kisses. He couldn't think of the other words to say to make that happen.

"Knees." Wesley undid the top button of Francis' slacks.

Here. On the floor. Francis was aroused all over again. He kissed Wesley--let Wesley kiss him--while he undid his slacks. Wesley was bound to have lube and anything else he wanted to use on hand. He was never unprepared. It was hot most of the time, insanely hot right now.

"Here." Francis stroked Wesley's face to soothe him, kissed him softly one more time, then turned around.

When Francis shoved his pants and briefs down around his thighs, Wesley pushed his shirt up to kiss his back, working down. Francis set his elbows on the floor and was rewarded by hot kisses on his tailbone and then Wesley's tongue between his ass cheeks.

"Fuck. Wesley." Francis dug his fingers into the hall carpet runner. Wesley didn't say anything, just went down on him with the same wet and hungry kisses he'd been giving Francis before. Not once or twice but over and over, sliding tongue and fingers into Francis until he was hard again and desperate to be fucked. Words kept coming out of him, each one sounded more and more like sobs. "Jesus. God. Wesley. Please."

"Francis." Wesley's voice in his ear, little more than a moan. His cock, hot and slippery with something, opened Francis up slowly. Slowly was too slow and yet any faster would have been too fast. "Don't move."

"Jesus." Francis pressed his forehead against the back of one hand, willing himself not to push for more. "Wesley, fuck." He punched the floor in frustration, skinning his knuckles on the carpet. Wesley's soft chuckle became a groan of pleasure as Francis' body let him in.

"Better now," Wesley breathed as he started moving, giving Francis what he needed. Not a hard fuck, not yet, a slow ride that was little more than the roll of his hips.

"Better." Francis moved with him, curving his body back against Wesley's, as they settled in. Wesley had him by the hip with one hand, holding him close, braced himself on the other.

When Francis turned his head he could see all the detail, Wesley's violence-scarred fingers with their manicured nails, his expensive watch, the corded muscles of his forearm under his silky white skin. Francis couldn't resist kissing Wesley's fingers, his thumb, his pulse above the band of the watch, while they fucked. Wesley's skin felt like heaven under his tongue.

"Fuck." Wesley got his free hand on the back of Francis' neck. "That's good."

Not the kisses. Francis tilted his hips to take Wesley's strokes deeper. The wanting. The worship. He could give Wesley that, had been waiting all night to do more than just follow orders.

"Please, sir. Harder."

"Sir? You don't have to--not now--you don't."

" _Sir_. Please." Francis let the need come through in his voice, dropped to take his weight on his cheek and chest, let Wesley see him digging his fingers into the carpet to get a grip on something, anything. He'd been so good about not being provocative right up until now. "Fuck me hard, sir. Let me come for you again."

"Jesus. Fuck. Francis." Wesley leaned back, both hands gripping Francis' hips hard enough to bruise, and gave him what he wanted. There was no grace to it, no control, Wesley's hips slammed into Francis' ass over and over, grinding into him on every stroke until Francis was gasping with pleasure. "Son of a bitch. Come. Let me hear it."

Coming this time was long, shuddering shocks of pleasure, erratic spurts of come splashing his chest and the floor, and begging. Mindless babble about Wesley and his huge cock and his perfect skin and his merciless stare and his self-control and his hands--his fingers that Francis needed up his ass and on his cock--his flawless, fuckable mouth too good for Francis' cock and his ass but please do that again, please, Wesley. Any time, any place, Francis promised, I'm yours: just take me.

Wesley pinned Francis down by the wrists, kissed his neck and his cheek and his mouth, kissing the words out of him. He came with a little sob against Francis' lips, bucking hard against him. Wesley told Francis secrets as he came, gulping for air between confessions of how desperate he was, how he'd nearly come in his pants while getting Francis off, how long he'd wanted Francis but the rules, the rules, and Mister--even coming, he didn't say the name, didn't need to--would never have approved.

When it was over, they were still, breathing each others' breath until Wesley's phone chimed.

"Car. Still waiting." Wesley whimpered when he moved and Francis slithered out from under him to help. Quickly, he hitched up his briefs and slacks while Wesley was still sitting back on his heels, slumped against the door. They hadn't made it even six feet into the apartment.

"Jesus." Francis staggered to his feet, punch drunk with pleasure and exhaustion. "That was--"

"Overdue." Wesley groped for his glasses.

"I'll get them. Zip up." Somehow, Francis navigated over to collect the glasses without stepping on them, then he grabbed Wesley's jacket. It was heavy with the weight of a gun in the breast pocket.

"Tomorrow. Nine o'clock." Wesley held out his hands, let Francis pull him to his feet. "Don't be late."

"Won't." Francis kissed Wesley as he helped him into his jacket. "You're not the only efficient one."

"I know. Didn't promote you just so I could fuck you." Wesley looked as giddy and loopy as Francis felt. "But it's a nice bonus."

"See you at work, sir." Francis kissed Wesley and groped his ass as he stumbled out the door. "We can discuss my new benefits package at lunch."


End file.
